Chapter 49

In the steaming hot tub on his snow covered deck, Sheriff Tom Warner was enjoying a glass of rich, Russell's Reserve bourbon and a Carlos Turaño cigar. The water bubbled furiously, fighting hard to keep the swirling snow at bay. This is the good life, he thought to himself. If only his normal escort hadn't gotten stuck in the snow, the evening would have been perfect. He had entertained the thought of venturing out and picking her up, but it was better to keep business just business. "Give a hooker an inch and you'll end up with a ring on your finger," he muttered into his glass. The buzz was starting to kick in.

Tom took another satisfying drag from the cigar just as his phone started belting out a Lady Gaga song he had heard on the radio, earlier that day. Lazily, he popped open a waterproof storage compartment, looked at the number with disgust, spat into the darkness and answered the phone.

"Y'llow," he slurred. "Maxie, how delightful of you to call," Warner said sarcastically. "I don't care what you think that crazy Driscol bitch is gonna do. No way is she gonna do it tonight. Have you seen this fucking snow? What happened to the guy tailing her?" He laughed at Max's profanity laced reply. "Keep your skirt on, retard. If it makes you happy, I'll go patrol. But Mitch is gonna owe me big. This weather isn't fit for man or beast or even you, Maxie ... yeah, fuck you too. Night, night. Kisses."

After hanging up, he laughed heartily at the thought of the shit-fit Max was sure to be throwing. Briefly, he wondered where Max would be hiding out during the storm. The Driscol girl had proven a difficult adversary, but she had yet to face Max's army when they were ready for her. The Sheriff had nothing but disdain for the mercenaries, but he had to admit that they were top notch killers. If she tried to resist, she was a goner.

Well, she was a goner either way, he chuckled to himself. Mitch would not forgive the punch to the face. He only wished he could have seen the spectacle. If only she had punched Max, Tom would have given her a free ride out of town.

Warner finished the cigar at a leisurely pace and poured another snifter of bourbon. The combination of nicotine and the warm burn of alcohol put him in a pleasant mood. The falling snow grew heavier, and with great reluctance, he dragged himself from the warm hot tub. Tom walked barefoot through the snow, into the warm embrace of the living room with its massive fireplace. He padded up the marble staircase, dripping water the whole way. The maid would take care of the mess in the morning. Leisurely, he entered his bedroom, changed into his Sheriff uniform, put on his badge, strapped on the gun belt and headed to the door.

Sheriff Warner wasn't too upset about the assignment Max had given him. He was actually looking forward to giving the MATTRACKS a real workout in the deep snow. The thought of tearing through town in his specially equipped Hummer brought a smile, tinged with inebriation, to his face. Being able to purchase any toy he desired made dealing with Max bearable.

"What the fuck?" he gasped in surprise as he opened the front door. Sheriff Warner rubbed his eyes and stared again, hoping it was just a trick played by the bourbon and cigars. It wasn't.

His yellow Hummer was perched precariously on cinder blocks. Across the side of the large machine, someone had drawn, in red lipstick, a hand giving him the finger. He yanked the satellite phone from his pocket and dialed angrily.

"Did you do this, asshole?" he screamed at Max.

"Do what?" Max asked, irritated by the interruption.

"Steal my fucking MATTRACKS!"

Max couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Serves you right, dumbass. Find something else to patrol on. Maybe you'll find your precious toys while you're out there. I hope your nuts freeze off." Max hung up. With a self satisfied smile he went back to work, setting up a cover story involving the tragic death of a girl, her boyfriend and her grandma.